


You and Me (Could It Be Meant to Be)

by stevieraebarnes



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics), Nightwing (Comics), Teen Titans - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Fluff, M/M, Meet-Cute, Noncon touching, Student Protests, That sounds really bad but I promise it's brief and totally dealt with, no capes AU, student life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-31
Updated: 2019-08-31
Packaged: 2020-08-14 01:21:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20183896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stevieraebarnes/pseuds/stevieraebarnes
Summary: Dick Grayson finds himself flung out of orbit as he navigates his final year of undergrad. That is until he spots a man in a red hoodie who draws his eye.A no capes/university AU meet cute.





	You and Me (Could It Be Meant to Be)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ggori6](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ggori6/gifts).

It’s the first day of autumn at Gotham University when he spots him.

It would take a few months before he would learn who this “him” was, but right now, on September 23rd, Dick Grayson watches the man walking directly before him. They’re amongst other students, making their way between classes and work study shifts, surrounded by snippets of conversation, of laughter, of the continuously thudding footsteps far too irregular to ever consider it a march. The sun shines on, loud and blaring from the skies, as the leaves on the trees lining the campus paths wither and brown to signal the change in seasons. Dick pays no attention to such details. At first, the man walking in front is simply a purposeful distraction. The distractions help him to drown out the well-intoned, but grating questions Dick has fielded ever since starting his fourth year at university and lingered now into his fifth year. Questions that rattle around in his head long after the questioner is gone. Questions of _ What are your plans after graduation? _ and _ Got any interviews lined up? _ and his personal favorite, _ How could you refuse to go into the Wayne family business where you would immediately have a job and a salary? _ (Answer: it was easy; it was agony. Thanks for your concern.) 

And now, as the students around him talk too much or too little, about things of no interest or too much interest and shouldn’t be said aloud (“Netflix and Chill is such a curse. I lost 45 minutes of my night because I had to go back and watch the episode after he was done”), Dick easily avoids the distractions of strangers' conversations and impertinent questions about the future. Dick's eyes linger on the vibrant red hoodie that fits the broad, sloping shoulders of the student walking in front of him oh so perfectly, and his worries recede to the background as he allows himself to consume nothing but what’s before him. The student’s hands are jammed into his pockets, creating a tautness with the denim fabric of his jeans stretching across his ass and defining it. He walks with a confidence not often seen in students, especially when faced with a new term. Most students at this point in the new academic year have either pledged their focus to this fresh new beginning, of finally starting good study habits, or they are hopelessly lost and trying to find their place in a campus larger than some of the towns they grew up in.

The guy's behavior—plus the shape of the flesh in front of him if he’s honest with himself—leaves Dick curious, and he is content to walk behind this man instead of speeding up to reach class early. He knows he's losing out on prime desk spots by lagging behind, especially the desk by the window in the old building he can crack open a bit and tempt a refreshing breeze into the overcrowded classroom. Dick doesn’t seem to care.

_ Where is this guy going? _ Dick wonders, and _ How far can he follow him without it getting weird? _ They walk the neutral zone of campus, between the divide of the liberal arts majors and the engineering/mathematics majors. Dick himself had crossed the line two years previously when he changed majors, turning his back on economics for chemistry.

He hasn’t been back since. 

_ Where does this guy call home? _

Dick cannot recall seeing him in the chemistry building, or anything adjacent to the area. He reasons he would have noticed someone of, well, _ this_, caliber. The student in the red sweatshirt with the hood drawn over his head may hide quite a bit of himself, but it cannot hide the muscle packed on his large, confident frame. And Dick has so many questions about that. Questions that Dick has not felt the need to ask in a long time.

_ Maybe the guy’s in a smaller major and has a ton of time to spend in the gym. _

_ Or maybe he’s in political science. _

_ Physics. No, he would’ve seen him since there’s so much overlap. Maybe. _

_ Theatre. _

_ Maybe he’s a student athlete. _

_ Maybe he’s just a gym bro. Wait. When was the last time _ he _ was in the gym? Or attended the gymnastics club meets and practices? How long has it been since he held his body parallel with the floor, fifteen feet off the ground, by a beautiful ribbon rigged from the ceiling? He should ask Donna if she knows this guy. She knows everyone. _

_ Shit, is he still staring at his ass? _

Dick raises his eyes to focus back on the man’s shoulders and finds someone else. The man in the red hoodie is gone.

Dick keeps walking, keeps with the flow of students. He is tempted to cause a collision amongst the pack just to do something, but he doesn’t, turning his head from side to side instead, scanning for the tall, well-built body in the red sweatshirt and perfectly snug jeans. He’s nowhere.

And it is on this day, the 23rd of September, the first day of autumn, that Dick Grayson realizes how much he has missed out on.

* * *

The next time Dick comes face to face with the reminder of him missing out, it is not in the form of self-realization.

Instead, it is an accusation from his professor, which is simply embarrassing considering most if not all professors subscribe to the belief that all students—graduate or undergraduate, paid or unpaid—should work for their research groups twenty-four seven and then thank them for providing the exciting opportunity. This professor happens to run a nanomaterials lab; a place Dick is happy to spend his free time in.

“I can’t believe I’m saying this,” Dick’s favorite professor says anyways, “but you’ve been working in the lab everyday. And you were in the lab everyday last week...”

Before the interruption, Dick had been enjoying said lab to himself; an extreme change of pace from the crowd he normally found himself surrounded by. He had meant to relish the quietness.

Now, Dick watches the body language of Dr. Carter. She has paired a floral dress with hiking shoes today—a bold choice, Dick makes time to think—despite knowing a personal critique is coming his way. He braces himself for her next words.

“Well…” he prompts.

“And the week before that and so on. I can’t remember a time you _ weren’t _ in this lab. Doing your paid work, of course. But also helping other students. Providing the occasional labor for myself and my colleagues for free.”

“I’ve got a lot to make up for,” he says. It’s what he’s been telling himself for the last two years. At first it was true.

The professor searches his face. She tucks part of her long, graying hair behind her ear and nods in understanding.

“I get it,” she says. “And truly, I admire your dedication. But you’ve been with the department for,” she motions with both her hands to him, “you said two years now. I think you’ve proven yourself to the world of chemistry, Mr. Grayson.”

“I guess I just got into the habit of being here. I mean, when I changed majors, I was so behind.”

“And now?” the professor asks.

“I’m on track to graduate in the spring...as a fifth year.”

She gives a brisk huff. “Do you even talk to your peers, Dick? A lot of chemistry majors graduate after five years. It’s a big major. Don’t beat yourself up. And stop obsessively counting units, okay? I thought you left the world of economics behind?”

“Hey now,” Dick says, but it's with a laugh. “That’s a low blow.”

“Get out of my lab, Mr. Grayson. Get some sun. Grab a coffee. Talk to other people,” she points a finger at him, “and mentoring the first and second years does _ not _ count.”

This, Dick decides to take personally. He enjoys working with the other students. He’s always been naturally good with people. And he enjoys helping those hopelessly lost with their organic chemistry lab work that they would rather curse to oblivion.

He says, “They like it! The lab’s been really popular lately!”

“Mmhmm I’ve noticed. If they’re learning, great. But I don’t think it’s the lab that’s attracting them.” She narrows her eyes.

Ah.

Yeah, Dick’s aware. He’s heard the giggles. He’s seen the lingering looks that come off as more hungry and less flattering. But sometimes if the means aren’t hurting anyone, then it can justify reaching those ends, right?

Wrong apparently, by the looks of things.

Dick’s favorite professor massages at her temple like she’s already addressing a preemptive headache.

“Look, I’d like to not start off the academic year dealing with Title IX so just do me a favor and spend some days beyond the chemistry building, okay?”

Dick decides this is not going to be the hill he dies on.

“If you insist,” he says, because he can’t help being just a little bit of a shit.

“I do. But only because you’re a good kid. A natural leader with great talent. I don’t want you to burn yourself out.”

“Thanks, Dr. Carter.”

“Oh, don’t thank me yet. I’m being selfish. I want you to consider being my grad student instead of whatever it is you’re thinking of doing.”

The playful banter recedes and the smile on Dick’s face slips. There it was. The question he’s been avoiding for months on end. He still didn’t have any idea what he was going to do. He had thought about a family friend who did police forensics, it was the inspiration that led him to switch his major from economics to chemistry to begin with. Or he could simply sign up for the police academy, an idea he had toyed with, and in the absence of any other ideas, was the only thing to offer him a definitive plan. But over the last two years he’d grown unsure of himself, grown unsure of his inchoate goal. He no longer knew if it was really the path he wanted to take, yet he continued to blindly, rigorously move forward towards the brotherhood, filled with idealistic goals of change from within or without bias. But as he advanced through his classes, he had grown more in love with the elements that made up the building blocks of the entire universe.

“I’ll think about it,” Dick says, not ready to fall out of orbit again over a career path.

“Don’t take too long. It’s September. These deadlines come up before you know it. But, grad school’s a bit more loosey goosey when it comes to applications. Especially if you’ve got faculty vouching for you.”

“I really appreciate this. Really. I’ll take time away from the lab and think about everything. And if my grades decline, I’m gonna rely on that ‘loosey goosey’ aspect of applying,” he says with a devilish smile.

“You punk.” She begins to turn then stops, addressing him again. “I want to _ visibly _ see you leave the lab.”

Dick removes the vented goggles from the top of his head and pulls the borrowed lab coat from his shoulders. He tosses each into a bin for disinfecting and swings his backpack onto his shoulder. He walks past the aisles of gleaming black lab benches, a few random stools, and fume hoods. There is glassware—beautifully precise and flawless—perched on the elevated divider of each row of tabletop and topped with messy, imprecise aluminum foil: a sign that the beakers and vials and flasks have all been cleaned and baked and ready for use. 

Dr. Carter points a finger down the hall and Dick makes his way past her, continuing down the corridor. He reaches the T junction of the building: one way entering the inner depths of the building, the other leading to a set of stairs that will take him outside. He turns around to acknowledge the woman with a salute, then sidesteps to the left towards the sunshine.

He hears the door thud shut and tries to convince himself it isn’t permanent.

* * *

Dick spies the mystery student again, but it takes far too long to realize it’s him.

The weather is no longer blistering hot and classes have been in session a few weeks now; the slow windup to the eventual chaotic breach called finals well underway. 

The students have begun to feel at ease; a clear rookie maneuver to be lulled into a false sense of security. Yet campus is as busy as ever: the students and staff move from building to building, crashing into club organizations’ A-frames that line the paths trying to recruit anyone to their fencing clubs, religious clubs, and internationally recognized societies. The emboldened squirrels run from unattended backpack to unattended backpack in search of snacks. In a diagonal cut across campus, a student dressed up as the rival school mascot runs at breakneck speed, chased by five other students screaming, “GET ‘EM!”

Dick’s eye catches something else entirely. A man in profile and from a distance moves with hurried, graceful bounds up the stone steps of a hodge podge building. He’s quick, but powerful, and Dick enjoys the anatomy and physiology at work. The building itself is an older, four storey example of concrete brutalism that houses an ever rotating schedule of classes from any department. Every major imaginable has at one time or more been stuffed into a tiny classroom of this eye sore, with its tiny desks and lack of sinks and Bunsen burners. Dick’s had class discussions in there four or five times. But as the man finally makes his way through the building’s doors, Dick notices the red sweatshirt clutched loosely in his hand, partially hidden behind his body.

It's him: the guy with the shoulders and ass and confident walk.

Dick takes off after him. It is a split decision made by the fact he’s between classes and fueled by curiosity. Absolute curiosity. Dick refuses to think maybe it is something else he will not dignify to name. Right now, he is no longer a chemistry student. He’s a detective with a lead and he doesn’t mean to let it slip by. He crosses the wide walking path and takes the building’s steps three at a time: one stride, two strides, done. He pushes off the landing, using the momentum to keep his pace, and he steps through the doors.

He finds himself in the entryway with two perpendicular hallways before him. Any lingering students are gone by now and Dick hears the last open door swing shut. The area feels devoid of life, replaced with a clinical varnish of pale paint and a few plain academic posters on the wall across from him. They’re filled with graphs and corresponding results spelled out in a boring manner. It goes against the warmth and vibrancy he gleaned from early impressions of the mystery guy: a man with a quick pace, an affinity for bright red sweatshirts against his usual black or gray, and from just a minute ago, a furrowed brow that makes Dick wonder what exactly is going through mystery guy’s brain.

But Dick has missed him again and the thrill of chasing a curiosity begins to dissipate. He furrows his own brow and wonders exactly what he’s doing.

* * *

“Hey, house leader!”

Wally jumps over the back of the sofa to invade Dick’s comfortable silence. Dick, done with classes for the day and taking a well earned break, lounges on the curbside-found blue sofa the house adopted and cleaned. His plan was to stretch out any relaxation he could have before needing to get up again and make dinner. He tries to ignore Wally in order to spend a few minutes mentally tallying what’s in the fridge and pantry, calibrated for when he last braved a trek to the grocery store. His conclusions lead him to the fact that dinner will have to be pasta again.

His thoughts fade away as Dick becomes more aware of a slowly increasing pain in his arm. Wally lounges against him like a cat in need of attention, except this cat is still wearing his backpack with a stainless steel water bottle in the side pocket.

“Ow, Wally, your water bottle is crushing me.” Dick elbows him to get his point across. 

“Why aren’t you in the chem building?” Wally asks, moving just enough to allow some space between them, but not enough for Dick to avoid the slap of straps and buckles as Wally takes the pack off.

“Seriously?” Dick asks, to both the question and the backpack’s assault.

Wally just grins.

Dick decides to answer the question. No use in avoiding someone like Wally. 

“I’ve been asked to apply for grad school. And continue in chemistry working with Dr. Carter."

"Okay..."

"I've also been told to get out more by said professor.”

Wally whistles. “Ouch. I mean, true, but ouch.”

“Fine. I accept that. And in other news, I saw someone on campus.”

“Wow. Did you see, like, 20,000 other someones on campus too?”

“No, I mean, he caught my eye.”

“Ohhhh!! I see what you mean. Who is it? He, huh?”

“I don’t know. I was kinda hoping you would know since you and Donna are always trying to get me to do stuff outside the lab.”

“What’s he look like?”

“Tall. Built. Wears a red hoodie.” He tries to remember the tiny bit of face he caught from a distance. “Serious looking?”

“And?”

“And...that’s kinda it. I only saw him up close from behind.”

A barking laugh bursts from Wally. “So. He’s got a nice ass then.”

“Okay, yeah, maybe a bit. Do you know him or not?”

“Nope. Sorry. Maybe Donna does. She knows everyone.”

“I’ll ask her when she gets home. She’s working today, right?”

“Right. So good luck with that.”

Wally keeps his gaze on Dick, a smile on his face and his eyes the shape of questioning consideration.

“Jesus, Wally, what?”

“You have a crush on someone. And on someone you don’t even _ know_.”

“It’s not a crush,” Dick says, more finality in his voice than strictly necessary. “I’m just curious. He’s a curiosity.”

“Uh huh,” Wally replies, the disbelief dripping from his words.

And while Dick has every right to show annoyance at his friend’s sarcasm and teasing, Dick smiles back when he identifies the happy pride he finds on Wally’s face.

* * *

The guy he’s been looking for walks past him one day.

Dick’s just about to enter a building for a class discussion group which starts in two minutes. He hears voices and, without thinking, turns to find the source.

Ten feet behind and getting further every second is the man with the red hoodie. He’s walking with another student, a woman with long blond hair and a chipper voice. The guy laughs at something she says: a caught-off-guard, rise-up-from-the-depths-of-your-gut laugh. It’s beautiful and makes Dick's heart beat fast and irregular.

He savors the sound, then clears it from his mind. He makes his way to class, just in time.

* * *

One day, as Dick wanders around campus without a goal in sight, he thinks to himself: _ I hope he’s not a serial killer. _

He looks for the guy in the red hoodie anyways.

* * *

Dick puts his brain to use.

It’s a good brain. Investigative. Clever.

Except for the traitorous part of his brain that keeps interrupting him with thoughts that he’s probably insane. Or is having some kind of quarter life crisis. He’s not even twenty-five yet, so that’s really saying something.

But Dick’s a chemistry major, and he knows chemical compounds react with other chemical compounds to build unique combinations. He likes to think this is what’s going on; his chemical composition is reacting to this guy’s chemical composition.

What can Dick say? He’s a romantic.

The other part of Dick’s brain has zeroed in on a campus location which has been in the proximity of most of Dick’s encounters with the man whom he actually knows nothing about. Oh, god this is a mistake, isn’t it?

Dick pushes through. _ They said to get out more_, he tells himself. _ They said to go meet people._

Dick has met loads of people. He’s never sought any out before; most people come to him. But this time, he just wants to meet this guy. Officially. That’s all. Talk to him. Learn his name. And see what happens. Either they keep running into each other, hold some conversations, maybe become friends, maybe something more...or there’s nothing at all between them and Dick moves on. Either way, at least he would know. All he's asking for is a solution to his mystery.

This is why Dick stands in front of the library.

The building has loomed there innocently enough, or in close proximity, almost every time Dick’s spotted the student.

It’s an enormous, stone building with glass panes covering the entire entrance side plus two sets of automatic double doors; one for entering and one for exiting. These two double doors are the only way in or out of the building and Dick knows this because he has just finished walking all the way around the library that sits on an entire block size parcel of land looking for a way in.

He takes the plunge and enters the building where he’s immediately overwhelmed. But he sets those feelings aside and begins to walk further into its depths.

He takes the grand staircase situated in front of him and travels up, up, up, with landings splintering off on each floor level like the branches of a tree. Dick keeps moving forward, not thinking about the path he’s walking, but simply taking in what he sees as they pass him by and hoping for a glimpse of the elusive student. He finds himself in a wing of the library filled with row after row of books, shelves taller than him by a couple feet. He feels small and insignificant surrounded by the words and thoughts of millions of people.

Dick walks quickly, his head peering down each aisle, and he soon reaches the end of the wing. His only options include turning left to continue a circle, or turning back around. There is no mysterious student to factor in to this decision, and Dick begins to feel the tell-tale beginnings of frustration; frustration over a problem with a solution he cannot grasp, with too many variables. Perhaps random, chance encounters should be left as such: random and chance.

He starts slowly walking back, this time his eyes catching the spines of the books on the shelves, which he had spent this entire time in the library ignoring. He turns into one of the rows, the coarse-fabric covers stamped with gold or white lettering reeling him in. He holds out a hand, touching the books as he moves along.

“You looking for something in particular?”

Dick freezes for a millisecond as he registers the deep, playful voice then turns around to face who called out.

In the crossroads between aisle and corridor stands the student he’s been chasing: the man in the red hoodie.

“Oh. Hey. Yeah. Wait. You can help?”

“I know these stacks pretty well. Especially since I work here and it’s my job.”

_One mystery solved._

“Oh! Right. Uh, well, I’m looking for whatever you’ve got to offer on chemistry.”

“Chemistry,” the guy deadpans.

Dick inwardly cringes but doubles down outwardly, placing his hands on his hips and tilting his chin up a smidgen. “Yeah...” he racks his brain for anything. “Maybe something on glaciovolcanism?”

_ Glaciovolcanism??? What is wrong with him? _

The guy looks at Dick for a second like he’s wondering if he’s serious or not. Dick honestly can’t blame him. “Well," the student begins slowly, "this is the humanities section. I’d suggest using the catalogue services to find what you’re looking for. Otherwise, I think the Physical Sciences library might have more of what you’re looking for.”

“So what’s this then?”

“You’re standing in the main library. The research library. Holds everything from periodicals to special collections to biology textbooks to literary greats like Joan Didion and Jane Austen.”

“Jane Austen, huh? I’ve read a couple of her novels.”

The guy raises an eyebrow like he's surprised, but impressed. “She wrote a perfect number of perfect novels,” he states without any room for argument. “Sounds like you’ve got some reading to catch up on outside of chemistry. And some libraries to explore. You know, there are five other libraries besides this one on campus.”

“Yeah, I’ve been feeling pretty behind on life a lot recently.”

The man cocks his head at Dick, considering him. Dick's relieved to see there's no pity in his eyes over the far-more-melancholic-than-he-meant-statement. Instead, he's looking at Dick like he's both a problem and a solution and he's not sure how one led to the other.

“Glaciovolcanism?" is what the student says, breaking the lull. "Is that what it sounds like?”

“Volcano-ice interactions, yeah. Hey, fun fact, a lot of people think subglacial volcanoes existed on Mars, though.”

The man nods at Dick's fun fact; thinking, considering. They stand there in the stacks, quietly and unmoving, taking in the sights and the words exchanged until the still moment continues for so long the lights overhead turn off, the motion sensor at work to save energy. And in the dark aisle for two whole seconds, it is just the two of them and no one else exists. It is them in the same space, with eyes and thoughts for each other only. Time is at an impasse over how to proceed and the two men seem to hold their breath, waiting to find out what will happen next. But the man in the red hood waves his arm until the lights register them and the illusion is broken.

“So what do you think?” the man says, bringing them back on track, and Dick feels alone in the moment he thought he had shared with this stranger.

“I think my professor was right. That I need to get out more.”

“I say listen to your professor, Mr. Chemistry. Come find me if you want to talk literature, okay?” He turns around and strides out of the row they had to themselves. Dick watches him pick up a neat stack of books from one of the desks that lines the wall for students to borrow. He must have set them down when he saw Dick looking through the titles.

The guy continues to walk away without a look back.

* * *

The sky is crisp and gray and offers a bitter wind chill to the midterm-occupied students. It’s a typical school day in late autumn.

However, it’s not the rainy season yet and Dick stands with his friend and other roommate Roy Harper outside the campus coffee house, enjoying an hour of free time between classes. Dick holds his student-made coffee with two hands close to his chest, feeling the warmth radiate through that small part of him. Beside him, Roy takes a sip and lets out a sigh.

“God, that warms the soul. Why are we outside again?”

“Less crowded out here,” Dick says.

“Less body heat, bird brain” Roy responds.

Dick gives him a look. “You call me that like it’s an insult, but birds are pretty smart. Besides. You’re wearing a jacket. And we’re not even in winter yet. Deal with it.”

“Yeah, yeah, save it bird brain. Oh, hey. Wally said you’re looking for some hot guy or something.”

Dick chokes on his coffee and Roy thumps him on the back in a painful and patronizing way.

“That asshole,” Dick finally manages after he can breathe again.

“Wally? Or the hot guy? Cause maybe I don’t wanna talk about this.”

Dick glares at him.

“Don’t worry. Wally didn’t say much. So who are you chasing?”

“I don’t know. He’s just a guy who caught my eye.”

“He must be something amazing then since you never chased after me or Wally or Donna like this. I’m a little offended, honestly.”

“He’s got a mystery factor that helps,” Dick says with a grin.

“Ohhhh, a mystery factory. I take it Wally and Donna and I aren’t very mysterious?”

“Have you met yourselves? All three of you have very loud personalities.”

“Fine.”

“Anyways. Sometimes he’s quiet and unobtrusive. And sometimes he’s really confident and opinionated. He’s good looking, in a bit of a rugged way. Fit. Deep voice. Eyes that see deep into your soul...”

“Sounds like Dave,” Roy interrupts.

“What?”

“Sounds like Dave,” Roy says again.

“Who?”

“Dave. He sounds like—”

“Yeah, I got that part. Explain who Dave is.”

“He’s that third year. Kind of got a bad boy vibe going on.”

“Maybe…” Dick muses.

“He burned down the gym of his high school.”

_Oh my god he _is_ a serial killer..._ _wait a second..._

“What?” Dick says to Roy, voice full of disbelief.

“He burned down the—”

“God damnit, Roy, I heard you. I think you’re confusing reality with _ Buffy the Vampire Slayer_. Again.”

“Oh, shit, you’re right. But he really is _ that _ third year,” and Dick watches Roy extend a hand to point a finger at a student sitting on a bench fifteen feet away. “Let’s ask him—”

“Roy, no—”

“—HEY DAVE!” Roy yells.

A man dressed in black jeans, a black leather motorcycle jacket, and a black scarf wrapped around his lower face turns his head slowly towards Roy, his eyes narrowed to slits from annoyance.

Roy continues anyways. “WHAT HIGH SCHOOL DID YOU GO TO?”

The guy pulls down his scarf and calls out, “I don’t even know you!” 

“Roy, that’s—”

“YOU DON’T KNOW ME CAUSE YOU NEVER SAY ANYTHING!”

“Stop talking to me!” the guy yells back as he leaves the bench and stalks off, re-wrapping his scarf around himself.

Roy looks back at Dick and shrugs. “So that’s Dave. He’s in my 8am Spanish class. Very mysterious.”

“That’s not him.”

“Really?”

“Really. Dave isn’t him.”

“Oh thank god. I was having a hard time picturing the two of you together. Why don’t you ask Donna? Donna knows everyone.”

“Yeah, I will. I just haven’t seen her.”

“Don’t worry, man. It’ll happen.”

“What’ll happen?”

“Any of it. Just keep after it all. You’ll grasp something eventually.” Roy takes another sip of coffee. “Just take care of it when you do,” he concludes.

Dick nudges his shoulder against his friend. “Thanks, Roy.”

Roy nudges back. “Any time, bird brain.”

* * *

Dick goes two whole weeks before he sees the guy again.

When he does, the man is wearing a brown leather jacket over his usual red hoodie. The hood is down, however, and Dick can make out more of his face than normal. He can see more of the rich, dark hair that is so often obscured by the sweatshirt. He has bright eyes, made all the brighter by the few days of scruff he sports on his face. It’s a full, even growth that makes Dick want to run his hands over his cheeks and jawline. It’s monumentally unfair that the guy can pull off both the clean shaven and the too-busy-to-pick-up-a-razor growth that comes days before an identifiable beard.

Dick watches the guy head towards the student-run coffee house and he slows his walk to class. Red Hoodie (plus leather jacket, _oh_ _yes please_) turns his head and Dick takes a sharp inhalation of breath as their eyes meet. The guy's face registers familiarity and follows with a quick two finger salute before stepping over the coffee house's threshold, disappearing amongst the throng of backpacks. Dick pauses just enough to wish he could go in, too. But Dick has places to be and a measurable amount of responsibility he’s taken on. He may spend less time in the lab, but he’s still got classes to pass to ensure graduation.

He walks away with a smile on his face though: he’s learned the mystery guy goes for coffee and that he remembers Dick's face. Dick takes that as a win.

* * *

Dick removes the red plastic insert from the treadmill and it slows to a walking pace before stopping completely.

The gym is packed with students and faculty members lost in counting reps, in trying to squeeze out thirty more seconds, to put in one more mile. They’re surrounded by a cacophony of noise that includes the gym’s awful choice of music, the whir of machines in use, and gasping exhalations upon a finished set of weights. Dick’s not tired, despite the fact that it’s been several months since he’s set foot in the campus recreational center and attempted any sort of regimented physical training. Dick comes to a stop because he’s distracted by his own thoughts. Again.

“Hey Conner,” he says to his running partner, “you know this guy?”

Conner Kent, loyal friend and God's gift to humanity, looks past Dick paused on his treadmill, expecting a person to come out of nowhere.

“What guy?”

“He’s tall, looks like he might lift weights or something. Kinda reminds me of you. Maybe you’ve seen him around here or something.”

“What?”

“You know what? Nevermind.”

“Are you okay, Dick?”

“I don’t know. Maybe. I’m adjusting, I think. A slow adjustment”

“Is Bruce still giving you grief for not wanting to go into the family business?”

“No. Not really.”

“Because you are in no way obligated to work for him just because he raised you.”

“Yeah, I know. And it’s not that. B’s been pretty okay about the whole thing. I think. He hasn’t said much, to be honest.”

“So what’s the problem?” Conner asks. “Stress?”

“No. It’s just, I realized I’ve been missing out and I feel very, _ very, _ behind. Socially,” he amends. “I don’t think I’ve ever felt that way in my life.”

“Finally. Mr. Perfect has to try at something!” Conner crows, still at a brisk pace for his jog. Show off.

“Jerk, I work hard all the time.”

“Uh huh.” Conner keeps running silently, then asks, “So why are you asking me if I know some weight lifter?”

“I don’t even know anymore,” Dick says.

“You should ask Donna. She’ll know.”

“Donna’s being elusive right now.”

“Is she? I think she’s just spending more time with her boyfriend.”

“What boyfriend? There’s just been that one guy she brought over a few times.”

“Yeah that was like a year ago, Dick. They’re pretty serious I think.”

Dick shakes his head. “I feel like I’m losing it.”

“We’ll focus on that later,” Conner says. “But for now, let’s not lose this too.”

Dick starts the treadmill up again and the two run together until their lungs protest and their legs feel like jelly.

* * *

The automated doors open just as Dick approaches and silently, without fanfare, he is back in the library. This time, he has no agenda except to wander and observe. The last time he was here, he’d been distracting and unbalanced. Now, he takes in the large, sprawling library, with wing after wing to explore. In front of him, the grand, double coiling staircase that spirals upwards with landings on each side for each floor stands before him just as previously. There are so many pathways to take and Dick feels a bit like a kid at an amusement park for the first time. He can go left, right, or up the stairs. He takes the stairs again because he prefers to move upward and onward and decides to head to the top floor. Each floor houses different fields: periodicals, maps, and theses; special collections and languages; humanities; biological and agricultural studies; and finally, fine arts and literature. He heads for the last one.

Again the stacks surround him and he steps amongst them to see what they have to offer. For every single work of literature there seems to be five more of critical theory written on that single work. Sometimes more. The books emit a distinct smell—not entirely pleasant at first. Dick thinks of must and mildew and sticky fingers perusing the pages. A title catches his eye, _ Frankenstein: The 1818 Text_, and he plucks it from the shelf. He flips through the first few pages, then begins to read passages at random about what makes a monster or a community and is it always so cut and dry? The library smell fades into the background until the work transforms completely from text on paper to the revelation of the inside of a mind he suddenly finds fascinating.

“Hey again,” comes a familiar, deep voice, pulling him from the pages.

Dick looks up to see the red hooded student standing between the stacks aisle entrance.

“Glad to see you found the literature section. I mean, there are all kinds of great works across various genres and mediums...but these are my favorite,” he says with a grin. “Looks like you found a good one.”

Dick holds up the book he found. “I just picked this up off the shelves. I think I lost ten minutes just now.”

The guy makes a solemn face and places a hand over his heart. “You’ve just had a magical experience. Remember this always.”

Dick wants to say that the experience isn’t limited to the book he found. That as much as he enjoyed losing himself in a book, it is not the reason why the heart in his chest beats at a rapid pace. The book may be magic, yes, but because it led to a surprise visit from Dick’s favorite mystery person.

Before Dick can clear his head and continue the conversation like a normal person, a second voice rings out:

“C’mon, I’m not waiting forever.”

Another person waits for Red Hoodie and the man turns back to leave the stacks. “Enjoy,” he calls over his shoulder, to which Dick responds with a clear, playful “Oh I will.”

He watches the guy turn the corner of the aisle, out of sight, and walk down the corridor with a companion. He hears the second person whine as they push open the door to leave the wing.

“I need out of here. I’m hungry.”

Dick stands still as he hears mystery guy respond with an eye-rolling classic.

“Hi hungry, I’m—”

The door slams shut, cutting off whatever the man was about to say.

* * *

Two days before winter break and in the midst of finals week, Dick hears what he thinks is a commotion.

He stands up from the bench he was sitting on, still in a daze after finishing his last exam. With one foot in front of the other, Dick follows the yelling and a mix of sirens, making his way towards the huge section of lawn that sits in the middle of campus. It’s known as “the quad” due to the lawn divided by pathways that run the four cardinal directions. It's on the other side of the divide that Dick crossed three years ago when he left economics behind.

What he finds is unlike anything he’s ever seen.

The quad is surrounded by police cars. Dick slips past, his desire to know exactly what’s going on overtaking his sense of self-preservation. There are over a dozen students on the ground, hands zip tied behind their backs, and a swarm of officers in riot gear. There’s an orange mist in the air and a pungent smell that makes his eyes water. Dick notes the badges on the closest officers; city, not campus police. They mill around on the open lawn that so many students traverse throughout the day, on their radios, speaking to each other. The students are mostly ignored. More students stand around as a periphery and Dick feels like he’s in the eye of a hurricane, surrounded by chaos. He can hear the shouts, the siren’s wail, the heavy footsteps all around him. But where he stands, the officers march students off in silence and the students allow themselves into the back of several police cruisers parked at odd angles without a word. It is silence contained by hysteria.

“Dick,” calls a voice over his shoulder. “Wrong place, wrong time, house leader.”

He turns to find Wally right behind him.

“Come on. The student protest is over.”

“Protest?” Dick asks. How does he not know what’s going on around campus?

“Sit in, actually. But the best thing to do now is to leave. Right now. In a flash.” He tilts his head at the direction he means to take and starts running.

Dick makes to move, gets one step in the direction before he stops again, a familiar outline in the corner of his eye. With his hands behind his back, Dick watches an officer walk the man in the red hoodie right in front of him towards the closest vehicle. Dick turns his head, searching for Wally, but his roommate has already sprinted through the trees bordering the lawn. 

Gone.

The guy in the hoodie turns his head, making eye contact with Dick. He gives a silent nod of recognition, then commits himself to his fate of being escorted off campus. Dick moves in his direction.

“Hey,” Dick calls out. The officer proceeds to push red hoodie against the vehicle harder than necessary and Dick notices the student briefly narrow his eyes at the impact. Not as a wince, but in anger.

“Hey!” Dick calls again, this time within three steps of them. 

The officer turns his head, keeping a tight grip on the red hoodie guy’s arms and pressed against the cop car.

“Where are you taking him? On what charges?”

“Seriously?” the officer says. “Get out of my face unless you want to sit in the back, too.” He motions to the American-built muscle car he stands beside: outfitted with loud decals and a menacing push bar in the front.

“He didn’t do anything,” Dick says.

“Hey, chemistry guy,” Red Hoodie says, “I love our random interactions, but it’s okay. Really.”

“No, it’s not okay.”

The guy in the sweatshirt just shrugs his shoulders as if to say, _ Well, nothing we can do about this right now_.

The officer pulls up his riot visor and his eyes scan the length of Dick’s body in an appraising way that sets off warning bells in his brain. This is a situation that is quickly leading from worse to a clusterfuck.

The officer decides to humor Dick’s question. “These kids were occupying state property,” he says. “And they refused to leave when asked politely.”

Dick scoffs. “They pay tuition. A lot of them live on campus. Class is in session. We’re in finals week. How are they occupying?”

“They blocked campus access and made my officers feel unsafe. They needed to be dealt with.”

Dick looks around at the open lawn: a half acre of grass and trees without a fence or border in sight. It usually houses students in various stages of relaxation on sunny days; some sprawled out studying, some sitting in a circle with friends, some completely passed out from exhaustion. 

Dick shakes his head “You came in full riot gear and the _ students _ sitting on a huge open lawn made you feel _ unsafe_?”

The officer reaches out with his free hand and watches Dick flinch as he laughingly pats his face. “You may be pretty, but you’re dumb as bricks aren’t you?” he says. The officer juts his chin at the student in custody. “This one’s going with me. Time for you to walk away while you still can.”

“Hey, leave the guy alone,” the guy zip tied says, and the officer shifts his attention back to the man Dick has been chasing all over campus since that day he first spotted him. Dick’s enjoyed the game of catch and release, catch and release, all over campus. But this officer holds the mysterious student in his clutches like a prize for his mantle.

The officer mocks a comforting pat on the student’s back. “We’re gonna be just fine,” he says out loud, but he lets his hand trail across the hoodie’s soft cotton fabric, contradicting his statement. His pale hand is a stark contrast on the bright color.

“Are you kidding me?” Red Hoodie says to himself.

The officer continues to stare down Dick, willing him to take off. “Buh-bye,” he says when Dick doesn’t move, waving a hand at Dick, dismissing him. But his other hand continues to roam the student in custody’s body, down, down, down, until finally he rests a covetous hand on the hoodie guy’s ass. He gives it a vulgar squeeze.

The student reacts with a violent dig of his shoulder into the officer's collarbone along with a loud, “Dude, get off!”

The peace officer takes a step back, but hears no protestations. Instead, his eyes go wide as they register too late Dick’s fist taking advantage of the raised riot visor and smashing into his face.

The man who stands for law enforcement hits the ground hard.

“Wow,” is all the guy in the red hood can manage before more officers descend on them and someone’s truncheon connects with the back of Dick’s legs, bringing him down.

* * *

Dick is pushed into, and through, the bureaucracy. 

He’s at the city police station where he was carted to in the back of his very own police car. He hands over his backpack, shows the officers where his ID cards are: student and driver’s. He gives his name. His address. His emergency contact, which earns him an “Oooh, someone’s in _ trouble_” from the interviewing officer who recognizes the name provided. He gives an intense, knowing stare for his mugshot (with a hint of a smirk because Dick cannot resist and his mugshot will later be displayed on a wall of the precinct as part of someone’s curated collection of favorites). He removes his belt and unlaces his shoes. Then he gives these, too. 

He’s put in a holding cell with ten other people. Dick counts them from the corner he occupies once he’s locked in. It’s filled with most of the other student protestors he saw on the quad plus one professor by the looks of it. A few minutes pass until there’s the sound of footsteps approaching their holding cell. The same uniform who walked Dick over stands with the red hoodie guy, sans actual hood. He passes through the entrance, locked in with the rest of the group. He nods to a few of the other students, shakes hands with the professor who congratulates him on his rite of passage, and makes his way to Dick. He sits down next to him, both of their backs against the wall.

“Is that a professor?” Dick asks after a moment.

“Yep. That’s Dr. Rodan. He’s a medieval studies professor. He can smell fear and I love him for it.”

Dr. Rodan chats with a couple students on the floor, forming a circle. They look more like a mentor and his acolytes performing a ceremony than arrested campus students and faculty sitting in holding. Or like a pack. It's a different vibe than what he feels from the student sitting next to him, the two of them surrounded by other protestors, but clearly off to the side on their own. Less pack dynamics with this guy, more...fox?

“Are you one of his?” Dick asks.

“No. I know of him. I've taken a class of his. But I’m paving my own way.”

“I definitely get that.”

The guy nods. 

Dick watches, unsure what to say next. The guy wears a soft looking heather gray t-shirt that subtly shows off his arms and fits his build. Dick’s seen him a few times without the sweatshirt, but he’s come to associate the man with the scarlet hue. He watches him rub at his arms and Dick feels a small pang of sympathetic loss; the cell radiates a depressing chill. He scoots closer to the guy until the space between them is closed and he can feel the pressure and warmth of this other person.

The guy tenses for what seems like an eternity’s worth of purgatory and in that tiny moment Dick manages to worry over just how much he possibly messed up before the guy relaxes. He sinks lower into the close comfort Dick offers.

Now that the man’s accepted Dick’s proximity and his warmth, Dick refuses to leave it at that. He says the first thing that comes to mind.

“I’ve never been a part of a protest.”

They’re too close to look at each other, sitting side by side with their backs against the cold painted cinder block, but Dick can feel the man turn slightly towards him like he’s captured his utmost attention.

“Oh yeah?” the guy says. “I guess that’s not surprising. I think there’ve only been two student-wide protests in the three years I’ve been here. Counting today’s.”

“Were you in the other one, too?”

“Yeah. Had a different ending though,” he says with a laugh.

“A good one?” Dick asks.

“Definitely. A couple days of walk outs and a sit-in on the quad. Not that different from what happened today actually. But the last one was a _ peaceful protest _ and this one was not somehow.”

“You made the police feel unsafe,” Dick says, recalling Officer Grabby Hands’ words.

“That’s right. Unsafe.”

“Yep.” Dick continues. “The trained officers in riot gear. Afraid.”

Another laugh escapes from Red Hoodie. It really is a lovely sound. But Dick still has learned no amount of self-preservation so the next thing out of his mouth is:

“I had thought about joining the police academy when I graduated.”

Red Hoodie shifts away from Dick. He mourns the loss of body heat until he realizes that the man has turned so he can look Dick in the eyes.

“There’s a story there,” he prompts.

So Dick tells him.

“I was originally an econ major.”

“Huh.”

“Yeah. Dad’s in business. Uh, big business. But, well…”

“You didn’t want to go into big business?” Hood guesses.

“Nope. Never have. I didn’t know what I wanted to do. We’ve got a family friend who’s in police forensics or something. I’m not really sure what his title is. But it sounded cool and it seemed like a way to help people. Without bias and stuff.”

“Oh no.”

“Yeah. I mean, I know _ now _ that bias is inherent in everything. But even later I figured maybe I could bring the scientific method to policing. Proper investigations instead of the horrors that happen now between police and suspects.”

Dick can tell the guy wants to say something to that, but he just slowly closes his eyes. When he opens them again, he says, “And then what?”

“And then, well, I remembered about the friend who did forensics with the police department and I switched my major to chemistry. But it’s a huge major and barely any of my previous classes met the requirements for it. So I’d accumulated two years’ worth of units that didn’t help at all towards my new major and I was way behind. I threw myself into class and lab work to catch up. And I loved it. I honestly forgot about any plans outside of campus. Any plans about the future. And whenever someone asked about my future plans, I threw myself into my work that much harder to distract myself.”

“And what is it about chemistry that you love so much?” the guy asks.

Dick doesn’t hesitate.

“It’s the language of everything. When you understand chemistry, you understand the whole world. Everything is within grasp. Everything has a reason and a blueprint.” Dick thinks back, remembering. “I’ve made my own pain medicine. In class. It was Ibuprofen, specifically. And I remember the first time I made my own plastic," he says and enjoys the look of surprised amazement on the guy’s face.

“And I think that’s what it boils down to for me,” Dick says. “That I’ve learned how to make anything and everything myself. I don’t need to rely on others. And that I can make things that are mine. Just mine. I won’t be a dependent anymore.”

“I think I know exactly what you mean. Not having to depend on anyone for your health and happiness is the best feeling in the world," Red says. Then, “So what’s your conclusion on the police force?”

This time Dick has a clear answer. He's come to a decision.

Finally.

“It’s not for me. It could be. I could be that guy. But I don’t want to be him. I want to work with bleeding edge research and help people through discovery and sharing knowledge. I don’t want to join…” Dick pauses and waves his hand around the cell, indicating the precinct, “_this_. I don’t know if I ever really did.”

Red Hoodie clears his throat. “You know, I’m tempted to make fun of you.”

“For what?”

“For a lot of things actually. Especially your chipper attitude about wanting to help people. But the truth is, it’s kind of adorable and also I’m in the same boat. Sort of.”

“Oh yeah? What’s your major? What childish and naive thoughts have steered your educational decisions?”

“I’m a Human/Child Development and English double major.”

“Wow,” is all Dick says.

“Yep.”

“Seriously wow."

The guy groans. "C'mon, the English major's only like sixty units. Stop with the _wow_."

Dick holds up his hands in resignation. "Hey, can I ask you the question I hate above all other questions?"

Red tilts his head and squints his eyes in suspicion, "Go on."

"What are your plans after graduation?” Dick asks.

His cell mate laughs. “Ah, yeah I feel you on that. But, to answer, the goal is either a social worker and therapist for kids, or a state defender serving underrepresented children. Mostly kids in poverty or in the foster system.”

Dick nods. “So kids like me.”

“Well, originally it was for kids like me,” the guy says with a grin, “but I can include you, too, if the shoe fits.” He scrutinizes Dick again with a pensieve look. “You mentioned a dad though. In big business.”

“Foster dad.”

“Ahh. You’re still in touch with him?”

“Yeah. He’s pretty much dad to me at this point.”

“Wow. That’s rare. Most kids turn 18 and get immediately booted from the house. Those are definitely the kids I want to help. Showing them how to get a job, apply to college, emancipate themselves from their guardians if they need to. It’s a rough world for those who never had a stable hand to guide them.”

Dick soaks in the reality of this mystery person he's been chasing. He can't help but smile. “I think you’ll be an amazing resource and I wish you lots of luck," he tells him. And after a thought he adds, "And funding. Lots of funding. You’re gonna be great.”

The man pulls back to look at him again. “You sound sure of yourself. You don’t even know me." The guy turns his head to take in his surroundings, to offer a counterpoint against himself, "And we’re in a holding cell. Maybe I’ll be terrible for kids.”

Dick shakes his head. “No way. I think you’ll be perfect. And I do know you. Kinda. I know from your voice that you’re sincere. Compassionate. I know by the way that you let me say my piece without interrupting while remaining honest with your thoughts means you won’t bullshit the kids, but you’ll be tactful and respectful. That’s really what kids want. Someone on their side who’s competent, who listens, and won’t treat them like babies. That’s all I wanted.”

“Did you get that?”

“Mostly. I lucked out and was immediately fostered by a good man. It was rough at first, but we got into a groove after a year or two. I mean, it was a bit of an unconventional situation for sure. He’s unmarried, barely older than I am, and somehow allowed to raise a kid almost at the age I am now. But I guess money talks and he’s got enough of it. What about you?”

The man stares at Dick for awhile, assessing. “I think I’m going to wait for a couple more run ins with you before I say.”

“Fair enough.”

He nudges Dick with his shoulder. “Gotta give us a reason to keep running into each other all over campus.”

“It hasn’t been that many times…”

“What? I’ve been seeing you loads of times around campus starting just this September. It was like you just appeared all of a sudden. I swear, every time I turned around I'd see you walking somewhere, like you were on some really important secret mission or something.”

Dick has to laugh at that, for so many reasons. But he sticks with the obvious. “I guess I did just sort of appear. I started making an effort to get out of the chem building more.”

“I’m glad you did. Thank you, by the way. For punching that guy.”

“I’m happy to punch assholes any day of the week,” Dick says.

Red Hoodie smiles wide, his eyes bright and a dimple appearing in both cheeks. Dick stares, mesmerized by the sight, and smiles back.

They’re interrupted by the sound of a guard opening the cell.

“Mr. Jason Todd,” he calls, and the man next to him shifts his attention from Dick to guard.

_ Jason Todd. So he has a name._

“You’re free to pick up your belongings and leave the precinct. No charges.”

The student’s smile shifts into a look of surprise as he stands up. 

The name _ Jason Todd _ continues to echo through Dick's brain_. Suits him_, he concludes.

The officer continues. “Wayne heir,” he says, his voice far louder than it needs to be.

Dick doesn’t look up.

“Hey, Wayne heir! Mr. Richard Grayson! Daddy’s on his way.”

Red Hoodie—Jason—turns to look down at Dick, still sitting on the floor. “Richard, huh? You push out any nephews from a tower?” he jokes.

“I prefer Dick, actually.”

Jason pauses. “Really? Good to know.”

“Mr. Todd,” the officer yells, “you leaving or staying? Your window of freedom is shrinking.”

Jason continues to look at Dick. “I can stay, you know. I can wait right over there.” He points to where the precinct lobby lies, just out of sight.

“Thanks, but that’s okay.” He jerks his chin towards the open cell. “You get out of here. I’m not ready for my, uh, dad to see the guy I punched a cop for.”

Jason smiles again, dimples and everything. “Okay, then. See you around, Dickie.”

“See you, Jay,” he says, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.

* * *

Dick steps out of the shower after cleaning the precinct that clung to his body. Whatever tiny specs of jail that had been orbiting the mass of his body ultimately swirled down the drain to his relief. He towels off and pulls on a pair of sweats before marching into his room. He opens the door, light already on, and spots Donna sitting on his half-made bed.

“Hey there, outlaw,” she greets.

Dick's not surprised she knows already. Donna knows everything. Part of him wants to banter after a greeting like that, but instead he reaches out and pulls her up into a hug.

“I’ve missed you,” he says.

“That’s because you stopped hanging out with us, doofus. Plus, I graduated already and have a pretty serious boyfriend,” she says, her face smug.

“Why are all my friends assholes?”

Donna punches him on the shoulder. “You love us. And you haven’t been much better, so, takes one to know one.”

“Fine. Complaint noted.” He belly flops onto his bed, starfish style, then scoots over so Donna can resume her spot.

“I heard you got arrested today,” she says.

“You heard correct.”

“Wally says you didn’t run when he told you to.”

“Yep.”

“Are you okay?”

Dick thinks back. Aside from actually being arrested, he doesn’t have any complaints. And he doesn’t regret punching the officer.

“I’m okay,” he tells her. “No charges, thankfully.”

“Thankfully?”

“I could’ve faced assault charges.”

“Richard Grayson are you kidding me right now?”

“I punched a cop. But he was…” Dick takes a breath. “He was getting a bit too grabby with one of the protestors. I wasn’t gonna let that slide.”

Donna takes in his face as he lays there; head on a pillow, arm curled up beneath him.

“Does B know?”

“Yeah. The station called him as my emergency contact. He picked me up.”

She winces at that. “Are you and him okay?”

“He used his most severe Bruce Wayne voice to get the station to not charge me with anything. There were other witnesses who gave statements describing what happened, so I’m in luck. And apparently the officer I punched has a history. B actually said he was proud of me.”

“Wow.”

“I know. The moment lasted until I asked him to drop me off here at the apartment instead of at the manor.”

“Of course it did.” She shakes her head at the event. “Damn, Dick. You had quite the day. And I’m truly sorry, but I’m kind of glad you were there. For that protestor, anyways.”

“Me too. But I’ve got my own interest in the guy.”

“Wait. Don't tell me this is the guy you’ve been stalking all over campus?”

“Okay, I haven’t been _ stalking _all over campus, but yes.”

“Wally, Roy, and Conner have all talked to me about your campus stalking fest, Dick.”

“You make it sound weird!”

“So this guy,” Donna continues, “dark hair and brilliant eyes? Has a strong jawline and often wears a red sweatshirt?”

“Wow. Yeah, that’s how I’ve been describing him.”

“Aww, that's Jason! I love Jason. He’s so sweet once you get to know him. At first you're like, ‘This guy gives off a rough, dangerous kind of smolder’ and then suddenly he’s your class partner and actually pulls his weight! He’s the best!”

“Of course you know him,” is all that Dick says.

“We had two classes together last year. I can see why you’re chasing him, though.”

“I think I want to stop talking about this now. It’s all moot anyways. I just finally learned his name while we were in the holding cell together.”

“So romantic, Dick. You really know how to show a guy a good time.”

“Oh yeah? Well speaking of. How’s it going with your guy?”

“Come here,” Donna says.

Dick stares at her with a questioning look on his face.

She grabs his arm and tugs. “Come _ here_.”

He sits up and lets Donna pull him into a sideways hug. It feels different. It’s not a hug full of glad relief like the last one. It’s sad reassurance.

“Things with Terry are really good, Dick. They have been for awhile now.”

She separates from him, but grabs him by the shoulders, not ready to let go. “I’m moving out,” she says.

Dick blinks. “When?”

She looks down, as if her lap holds the words she needs. “In a month. I’m giving you notice.”

“I’m gonna miss you.”

“So am I. But I’m moving on." She ruffles his hair in both a patronizing and comforting way. "And I think you are, too.”

Dick thinks he agrees with her.

* * *

Dick walks the halls of the chemistry building with a new sense of belonging. It will hopefully be his home for the next two to three years.

Winter break had been a slow, family affair. It had consisted mostly of evenings filled with warm drinks by a large hardwood fire, with low lights and frosted windows, in the company of Alfred and Bruce. They enjoyed quiet times with desserts Dick and Alf made together, basking in a single task and good conversation. And there were days spent helping Donna pack up her belongings, which was more gossip and reminiscing of accumulated knick knacks than actual packing. But Dick had also spent the time away from campus to decide what the future was to be. He picked up a book on the GRE test and emailed Dr. Carter that he would be applying to Gotham University’s graduate program, with her as his adviser.

Now, Dick turns a corner in the familiar halls, making his way out of the building, done with classes for the day and a renewed sense of purpose that he hasn't felt in years. And then he finds himself face to face with the Red Hoodie, Jason Todd.

There’s an awkward pause before the man says a simple “Hi.”

And everything else is forgotten.

“Jason. Hi.” Then, “Uh, what brings you to the chem building?”

Jason gives a soft clearing of his throat. “Well, actually I’m here for you.”

“For me?”

“For the building actually.”

“Oh.”

“You talked about chemistry a lot,” Jason amends. “I thought I’d peek my head around. See what made it so fascinating. Why you liked it.”

Dick watches Jason fall silent, watches Jason’s eyes search Dick’s face for a response. Dick knows the building better than any other student. He thinks about what could be found fascinating.

“C’mon. This way,” he says, and starts walking back where he came from.

“Ooh, do I get a tour?”

“I want to show you something.”

They round a different corner and walk the long hallway before turning again.

“You promise we won’t get lost?” Jason asks.

“I promise. Trust me.”

Dick leads him to a set of double doors and pushes one of them open. “After you,” he says.

Jason walks through, then stops to check his surroundings. They’re in another hallway, but smaller and without any natural light.

“Here,” Dick says, pointing to a large Plexiglas window installed in the wall. He stands in front of the window and motions for Jason to join him. Beyond the window is a shop filled with equipment stations, shelves of gloves and several bottles of Windex cleaning spray bottles. Canisters of long, clear rods sit perched around the work surfaces. A man sits at a bench working a giant lathe, as it furiously turns an amber colored object. He has a tube in his mouth, snaking down and into a torch apparatus held in the palm of his hand. The man’s mouth makes subtle motions, like he’s carefully forcing air through the tube. The object begins to turn clear and a refracted dazzling array of colors from the flames shines on it as a shape takes form. It elongates precisely under the diligent hands of a master.

“Is that,” Jason begins. “Is he a _glassblower?_”

Dick nods. “Yeah. He’s amazing to watch.”

“Is this a class that people can take? I am _ so _ interested in this.”

Dick laughs. “There are classes. All chemists take one. But this guy isn’t a teacher. He’s the chemistry glassblower. He makes all our test tubes, vials, and flasks custom right here. Actually, I think he’s working with quartz right now.”

"Really? I just sorta assumed the school ordered from some glass company."

"Other departments, yeah. But not us. We get ours right here, all made for us specifically."

“Whoa.”

That’s all they say for awhile. They stand there, eyes fixed on the man as he brings a long vial into being. They watch the flames, the turning, the shaping. They watch molten liquid turn into hardened crystal as the atoms realign into a hard, but brittle thing of beauty. And while their attention is fixated on the display before them, they’re aware of each other, too. They stand side by side, space between them forgotten. Dick can feel the slight movement of Jason’s arm against his own, the comfortable way they press together longer than they drift apart. They stay that way the entire time the glassblower takes to finish his piece. He places the tube in a box and sets it aside.

“I’m staying,” Dick says, breaking the silence. “I figured out what I want to do after I graduate. I’m going to work hard to get into the grad program here. I’m going for my Master's.”

Jason tilts his head, giving Dick his undivided attention. “From what I’ve heard you say, you know, while in police custody," he teases, "I think that will be a rewarding path.” A sly smile slowly appears. “Don’t work too hard, though.”

“No?”

Jason gives a shake, grinning wider. “Nope. Can't have you missing out on the fun stuff now, can we?"

"Fun stuff?" Dick asks.

"So, we might have a mutual friend named Donna and she might’ve messaged me a week ago saying she knew about our time in _gaol_.”

“Oh no.”

“Oh yes! She also heavily implied you were maybe into guys, you know, romantically. And, I’d like to take you to dinner. Romantically. If you're interested. But if you’re working too hard…” Jason trails off.

“Well, a guy’s gotta eat to keep up with all the hard work, right?”

“I’d say your logic is flawless, Mr. Chemistry.”

“And I’d say your romantic gesture is appreciated and welcomed, Mr. Literature.”

“One more question.”

“Shoot.”

“What are you doing after this private tour of the very secret glassblower-in-resident show?”

Dick’s face breaks into a grin. “Absolutely nothing.”

“Would you like to go to dinner with me?”

“Definitely. I’m ready when you are.”

Jason turns back to the window, eyes focusing on the glassblower again. “Cool, I just want to see the rest of this show here.”

Dick punches him on the shoulder, teasing out a laugh. But in their playfulness, Dick slips his arm through Jason’s, slowly treading new territory. He runs his hand down Jason's forearm until Dick finds an open, inviting palm. He loosely cups their hands together and fixates on the sensation of skin to skin contact, of warm, dexterous fingers weaving together.

Jason uses the leverage to pull him closer.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading and I hope this gift makes good use of the student, no capes fluff you wanted, ggori6 <3 And thank you to the jaydick summer exchange mods for running this amazing challenge.
> 
> Work title comes from the song “Take It Easy” by Surfer Blood. Title IX refers to a US educational act that prohibits discrimination and sexual harrassment.
> 
> Although this is a uni au, I wanted to write a no capes interpretation to Dick Grayson's canon events. So we have the same progression of Dick going out on his own from Bruce, finding his own thing (chem) and a team, toying with the police career, and then ultimately deciding to continue with what he's doing without the police. I chose chemistry as a major for Dick because it's investigative, it's universal, and it's so versatile and can do so many things. For Jason, I took his love of reading and the way his protection is guided by his emotions to care for those who can't help themselves to give him an English/human development background.
> 
> Thanks for reading!
> 
> My [tumblr](https://stevieraebarnes.tumblr.com/)


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